


whiskers on kittens

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: On a rare trip to Dragonstone, Rhaella Targaryen has a very special gift for her granddaughter.
Relationships: Rhaella Targaryen & Rhaenys Targaryen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: Anonymous





	whiskers on kittens

Queen Rhaella scrunched up her nose at her granddaughter and peppered her little face with kisses. Rhaenys giggled.

“I have a present for you, sweetling,” Rhaella said in an exaggerated whisper, leaning in. “All the way from King’s Landing. Why don’t we let your mother get some rest and go to my chambers to get it?”

If it were at all possible, Rhaenys’s smile broadened at the word _present._ The queen rather thought her heart might burst. “Yes!”

Rhaella glanced over at her good-daughter. “Elia, may I – ?”

Elia nodded her consent, smiling faintly. She pressed a hand to her belly, already round with the next child, so soon after the first. When Rhaegar had told Rhaella about this next pregnancy, he had insisted that this one would be a boy, his heir. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Rhaella might even still be here when Elia birthed the babe – it should be soon, after all. The thought made her smile.

She took Rhaenys by the hand.

“Let’s go, sweetling,” she said. “Say goodbye to your lady mother.”

Rhaenys waved at Elia. Elia waved back, and grandmother and granddaughter left the room together.

It had been years since Rhaella had last been to Dragonstone, but the hallways were as familiar as always. She frowned and squeezed Rhaenys’s hand tighter. This island of theirs, their ancestral home…

She’d loved it once. It was a place for dragons, after all. Now…it was better than the Red Keep, for certain. But without her grandparents, without her uncles and aunt, the place felt cold. Empty.

“Grandmother?”

Rhaella looked at Rhaenys. The girl’s head was tilted to the side, pert mouth in a pout, eyes shrewd. “Something wrong?”

Rhaella swooped down to press a kiss to the top of that head, warmth rushing through her.

“No, sweetling,” she said as she breathed in the sweet, clean scent of the princess’s hair. “Nothing is wrong. Grandmother is just being silly.”

So perhaps not empty. Still, Rhaella wished…

“You, my girl,” she said, “ought to live in Summerhall, not here. I wish I could take you.”

As they walked, Rhaella kept talking about the palace now in ruins. She’d loved that place once and hated it since and her clearest memory of that awful night she’d birthed her first child amongst the ashes was the fear and pain of birth and death. Everything else…just flashes, scenes from nightmares.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, larger than life, pulling her from the flames.

Screaming Rhaegar into the world as her family burned.

She and the Aerys of her youth, before the rage and cruelty and _madness,_ clinging to each other.

Tears had run down her cheeks. Rhaella remembered that much. But whether they’d been tears of grief or tears of pain, she did not know. She didn’t think she _wanted_ to know. Summerhall was agony enough without that knowledge.

She had never gone back after that night. But with Rhaenys clinging to her hand…with the happier memories she was still voicing… _oh,_ how she wished they could go.

Rhaella fell silent as they entered her bedchamber. The basket was just where she had left it, on top of the foot of the bed. She let go of Rhaenys’s hand and scooped the tiny black kitten out of it, then got down on her knees. They protested the movement.

“Happy nameday,” she said, holding the warm, wriggly creature out to Rhaenys. “Meet your present.”

Rhaella remembered her delight when her son had brought his first child proudly to court and presented her before the throne. She had never seen a more beautiful babe! Not even Rhaegar or Viserys could compare to how perfect Rhaenys had been, a rush of colour and warmth in the land of pale cold. Unlike with Rhaegar or Viserys, Rhaella had not been in agony the first time she’d taken the child into her arms, not overcome by pain and grief – concern for Elia and a flare of the old anger at Aerys, yes, but that was nothing at all next to how wonderful it had felt to hold her first grandchild, to peer into the precious little girl’s dark eyes and try to tell if they were brown or purple.

She rather thought her face then must have looked something like Rhaenys’s did now.

And of _course_ Rhaella didn’t need to warn her to be gentle. Rhaenys was Rhaegar’s daughter, and Elia’s, and she was so, so careful. Tears sprang unbidden to the queen’s eyes. She blinked them away hard. How perfect could a child be?

 _If I ever have a daughter,_ she told herself, _I’ll name her Daenerys, and she and Rhaenys will be as close as sisters._

That reminded her. “What shall you call him?”

If her voice was a little watery, Rhaenys didn’t notice. She looked up from the furry bundle in her arms and said immediately, “Ba-wion.”

“Berion?” Rhaella checked. Rhaenys shook her head, brow furrowing as she concentrated, so much like Rhaegar.

“Ba- _ai_ -wion,” she emphasized.

“Balerion?” Rhaella asked, widening her eyes and covering her mouth in mock surprise. “But Rhaenys rode _Meraxes._ ”

Rhaenys shook her head violently.

“He’s _black_ ,” she insisted. “Black Dread.”

“Clever girl,” Rhaella said, tapping her granddaughter’s nose. “Balerion _was_ black.”

Rhaenys beamed and snuggled her kitten. “Thank you, thank you!”

Rhaella kissed Rhaenys’s forehead. “You’re very welcome. Now let’s go. I think your father might like to meet his dragon’s little dragon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Me, crying forever about Rhaella Targaryen and her awful life as a child bride and how she was so excited to hold Rhaenys when Rhaegar brought her to court.


End file.
